


Interview

by Dryad



Series: Scenes From a Murder Investigation [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Gen, Mytharc, NC17 for Violence, casefile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So you say, Ms. Johanssen," he interrupted again. "But no<br/>one will come forward to say you've done it for them.  Why do you<br/>think that is?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the Wheel of Fortune Lyric Wheel in 2003.
> 
> http://www.tifling.demon.co.uk/wheel/wheel.htm
> 
> Feedback: Be brutal. You know you want to.

Scully stood behind the one way mirror, arms folded, wanting to take  
Agent Tyler and shake some sense into him. If he was trying to show  
Agent Platt good interview technique, he was failing miserably. She  
wished she could see their faces. In fact, she'd put money on Tyler  
having deliberately seated himself and Platt with their backs to the  
mirror just because he knew she and Mulder were on the other side,  
watching.

Prick.

The subject of their interrogation sat at the other end of the long table,  
facing the mirror. She was model-thin, with yellow hair tied back in a  
bun, hands clasped in front of her like she was the Teacher's Pet. Her  
posture was ram-rod straight, a prim little smile on her lips, blue eyes  
cold, so pale they verged on being colorless. Topping off the Good Girl  
image was her floral dress, complete with white lace collar and  
slightly puffy sleeves.

Tyler and Platt didn't have a chance.

"Ms. Johanssen," Tyler rumbled. "You say you know nothing of these  
murders, yet you also say that you saw Julius Sandoval killing both  
Shella Parker and Mary-June Simmons."

"That's right, Mr. Tyler."

"How do you explain that?"

"It's easy, Mr. Tyler. I - "

"I know, you say you saw it all in a dream," Tyler leaned back in his  
chair. "That's nonsense and we both know it."

"I'm well known in the area, Mr. Tyler, for my - "

"So you say, Ms. Johanssen," he interrupted again. "But no one will  
come forward to say you've done it for them. Why do you think that  
is?"

Johanssen's smile grew as she shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know, Mr.  
Tyler."

Mulder made an inarticulate sound of disgust. Motioning towards the  
mirror, he muttered, "This is getting us nowhere."

On Scully's right, Agent Takahara was the picture of embarassment, a  
fine flush pinking her golden cheeks. "I'm sorry. I just didn't know  
who else to call with this."

Mulder glanced at Takahara and shook his head. "Don't worry about  
it, Noriko."

"So what do you think?" she asked. "I am right, aren't I? Johanssen's  
not our killer?"

"Yes," Scully answered. "we both agree that she had some kind of  
involvement, although we're not convinced she murdered either  
woman."

"Let's go through it again, Ms. Johanssen," Tyler said. "You saw Mary-  
June Simmons on the side of the road, fiddling with her car. Then, and  
I quote, 'she's lying on the ground, choking on her own blood', is that  
correct?"

Johanssen nodded.

"And this dream occurred last May?"

She nodded again.

"So why didn't you warn her?" asked Agent Platt, leaning forwards on  
the table.

"People don't always want to hear, Mr. Platt," Johanssen said, looking  
directly at the mirror. "Melissa said that a lot. You've got a closed  
mind, Dana! She was very proud of you, you know. She says your  
strength is your greatest weakness."

Scully jerked back a little. Johanssen seemed to be staring right into  
her eyes, which was impossible.

"And Samantha used to hide her Swedish Fish in the toes of her shoes."

"Samantha?" Tyler repeated, peering at the open file folder in front of  
him. "Who the hell is Samantha?"

"Did you know she liked Everlasting Gobstoppers? Fox stole them  
from her all the time."

Disquieted, Scully turned towards Mulder. He looked equally shell-  
shocked. She started to speak, then stopped.

"Are this Melissa and Samantha involved in the case, Mrs. Johanssen?"  
asked Agent Platt.

"Only indirectly," Johanssen said. Her lips quirked up even more.  
"They want to talk to you now."

Tyler slapped the folder closed and jerked to a stand. "Excuse me," he  
said, taking three strides to the door.

Platt looked at his watch. "The time is - "

Tyler closed the door firmly behind him and joined them at the  
window. He shook his head. "She's a god-damned nutcase."

"But a nutcase with knowledge," Takahara interjected.

Knowledge indeed, Scully mused. The question was, where and how  
had she learned it?

Tyler shrugged. "Why don't you go talk to her, see what you can get.  
Personally I think she's full of crap with this mumbo-jumbo  
nonsense," he held up one hand as Mulder took a breath. "Don't even  
go there, I'm not interested."

Mulder opened the door and called, "Agent Platt."

Time noted once again, Platt switched the tape off and joined the four  
of them in the private room.

Scully wasn't sure if he had a problem with nerves or female FBI  
agents or what, because he never failed to look at her and then Mulder.  
Definitely not an Alpha male. And for some reason, Mulder had taken  
a shine to him, even though to her Platt wasn't exactly a stellar  
example of intelligence and curiosity.

"Sir?"

"Agent Scully and I have a few questions for the witness."

Far from being upset at this news, Platt managed to brighten and look  
relieved at the same time. "Yes, sir."

Now came the game.

The interview room itself had the sallow lighting, stained tan  
carpeting and dimpled false ceiling tiles of virtually every interview  
room she had ever been in. She took the chair directly in front of  
Johanssen, while Mulder droned into the recorder, "The time is seven  
eighteen P.M., Agents Scully and Mulder present with Iris Johanssen."

"Mrs. Johanssen, would you mind telling us of the dreams you've had  
concerning Shella Parker and Mary-June Simmons?" Scully asked,  
crossing her legs, otherwise mirroring Johanssen's upright posture.

"As I told Mr. Tyler and Mr. Platt, last May I had a dream about Mary-  
June dying, lying in the grass by her car. Of course you never expect  
to see someone like that walk into your parlor, but this is a small town  
and word does get around."

"And Shella Parker?"

"Oh, I didn't dream about her. I had a vision."

"And the vision was...?" Scully prompted.

Johanssen pursed her lips like she had tasted something bitter. "She  
was kissing Mary-June. And not in the manner of friends."

"But you didn't see her as you saw Mary-June."

"I wasn't that lucky."

"Some people don't think of getting visions as being lucky."

"That's their loss. I'm very well known for my visions and dreams,"  
After a moment, Johanssen added, "Luck be a lady."

"Excuse me?"

"Luck be a lady, it was his song."

Scully heard Mulder shift along the wall, and waited a beat for him to  
speak. Instead, he sat in the chair next to hers, and when he still said  
nothing, she continued. "The killer?"

"No, your friend, the one who smokes."

She glanced towards Mulder before it even occurred to resist.  
"And...what do you know about him?"

Johanssen's smile grew sly. "As much as you, probably less. But your  
mother knew him rather better, didn't she, Fox?"

Scully lightly tapped Mulder's shin with her toe to remind him that  
this was all going to be on digital tape and video.

"And what would you know about that?" Mulder said softly, voice  
cracking ever so slightly.

"He used to sing it when he was getting ready, putting on his favorite  
necktie, patting his cheeks with expensive Italian cologne," Johanssen  
stared at her hands before regarding them through her lashes.

Scully wanted to slap the smile right off of her face. Maybe men fell for  
the little-girl look, but she didn't put up with that crap, not in the  
past, not now, not ever.

"Shella was killed with a hammer in the dream, too, I just  
remembered. I was confusing her with Sheila Sanchez-Chapman."

"Tell me more about the cigarette-smoking man," Mulder said.

"Oh, I don't think I could do that. It's not really what I'm here for, is it?  
I'll tell you this much, though," she leaned forward from her hips.  
"Samantha has doubts about him being her father. She always did,  
but she forgot until she saw you in the restaurant."

Mulder tensed, and Scully put her hand on his forearm. His  
expression was reserved, yet when he looked at her, his despondence  
was plain to see. As was his triumphant rage. Hold strong, she  
thought.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

Johanssen abruptly sat back. "This is what I do."

"Besides baby-sitting," Scully scoffed.

Johanssen turned dead eyes upon her for a second before returning to  
Mulder, who was no doubt the far more interesting prospect for her  
pocket and reputation. "Anyway. I've told you what I know. I'm not  
under arrest. Can I go home now?"

"We'll talk to you tomorrow, Mrs. Johanssen," answered Scully. She  
stood and led the woman towards the public door. "Officer Morgan  
will escort you out of the building."

Arms folded, she turned to find Mulder scrawling the relevant info on  
the lable of the bag before putting the interview tape inside and  
sealing it. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

He finally broached the subject when they were in the car, halfway  
towards their hotel. "She spoke about Melissa, too."

And therein lay the problem.


	2. Platt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor schmucks, don't know what the hell they're letting  
> themselves in for.

Three hours in and Harrison Platt was already on the verge of tearing  
out his hair, streaking through the hotel lobby, punching Lengel, or  
doing something equally inviting of a disciplinary hearing. He  
glanced at the Spookster and wondered if there was going to be any  
chance of a break before the mid-morning soda-coffee-cigs-donuts run.  
He was hoping to either volunteer or tag along with whomever made  
the run, because, honestly, he was going to either lose his mind or his  
breakfast if he had to keep looking at this shit.

One more day on this fucking case. One more day out of a slew of 'one  
more days'.

Days like this and the fantasies of bringing the UNSUB to court in the  
midst of flashing bulbs and microphones being stuck in his face  
seemed like nothing more than the dream of some ignorant child.

Yeah, they'd told him. Quantico was no place for wusses, and he, like  
everyone else, had been full of themselves and what they were going  
to achieve in the organization by the time he'd graduated. Running  
through previous casefiles, especially those from ViCAP, had been  
exciting, not downright terrifying. Maybe it was because most of  
them had been solved. Or maybe it was because working those cases  
didn't involve people who were soon to be dying if he didn't get things  
right the first time around.

So now he understood why the instructors at Quantico had  
sometimes looked at he and his fellow students with a mixture of pity  
and disdain and regret, the looks that read: Poor schmucks, don't  
know what the hell they're letting themselves in for.

No shit.

Platt sighed and surreptitiously looked around the room. No one was  
putting on a jacket or wandering here and there with pen and paper  
in hand, taking snack orders. Agent Mulder had grabbed an enlarger  
and was now peering even more closely at one particlar photo. Platt  
didn't see anything they hadn't already covered in-depth.

Sophie Fuchs, 19, beaten to death by a blunt instrument, probably a  
crow-bar or something similar. DeVawn Fuchs, , no more than a  
curiously stained lump of powder blue cloth against the south wall,  
practically unrecognizable as something human. The imprints of  
bootsoles against his flesh had been, in the most fucked up of ways  
imaginable, gratefully received by the crime scene techs.

Platt had never seen anything like it, and hoped to God he never  
would again. Which was ridiculous, considering which department  
of the FBI he was working in.

Having said that, the position in Computer Crimes was beginning to  
look more and more appealing. But if he transferred in the middle of  
working his first case, what was that going to say about him? That he  
couldn't handle 'real' crime? That he was weaker than Hawkes? That  
he didn't have the stomach for shit? That he would be a Fucking New  
Guy for the rest of his career?

Thinking like this wasn't going to get him anywhere fast, of that he  
was certain. He started chugging the remainder of his Jolt, and was  
almost done when someone slapped him hard on the back. Inhaling in  
surprise, he immediately started to choke.

"Hey, come on, don't do this to me, Platt. We still need your  
chickenshit ass on this assignment."

Wheezing and coughing, tears rolling down his cheeks, Platt turned  
around to see Tyler grinning at him. Very fucking funny.

"You have something for me, Agent Tyler?" Mulder said, eyeing Platt  
at the same time.

"Nah. I was hoping you'd have something new for me, actually."

"I'm thinking that all of the standards we use for MO don't apply,"  
Mulder said. He motioned towards the photo. "While this was a  
motive of opportunity, the location had been scouted before - "

"Shit, we already know this. Put it on the line."

Mulder shook his head. "I'm not prepared to do that at this stage."

"Doesn't seem to have stopped you before."

Platt cautiously took in a deep breath, wary of the tickle in the back of  
his throat threatening to send him into another bout of coughing.  
When he refocused on what was happening, he felt like a kid caught  
between bickering parents. Tyler had this belligerent sneer on his  
face, while Mulder stared back impassively. Platt had known Mulder  
for all of three days, and it wasn't difficult to see why he had the  
reputation of being an arrogant asshole. The flip side was that he was  
also a genius.

"Think whatever you want, Agent Tyler," Mulder said, turning back  
and searching for another photo.

Please God someone go for a snack run.

Tyler snorted and stalked away.

After a good five minutes of shuffling papers and sharpening pencils,  
Platt ventured, "So, uh, does that mean you have something?"

"Nothing concrete," Mulder mumbled.

Platt pursed his lips and nodded.

Okay.

Whatever.

You wanna keep your cards close to your chest.

Fine.

He leaned back and clasped his hands together low on his belly, toed  
his chair in a circle. The room, a long rectangular box that had this  
weird half-glass wall at one end, leaving a narrow hallway beyond  
the door, had beige carpeting and stark white walls. Desks and metal  
folding tables topped with laptops and files in various colors lined the  
walls, while paper and charts littered ever surface. The proverbial  
organized chaos. Tyler, Vostok, and Relman had gathered around the  
coffee station, laughing at something or another, but apart from them,  
Mulder, and himself, the room was depressingly empty. He preferred  
to be here when it was busy, when it seemed like they were making  
progress.

Platt felt the hair on the back of his neck stir and swung the chair  
around. A woman in a charcoal gray suit had entered the hallway,  
the door swinging on well-oiled hinges behind her. He hadn't seen  
that shade of red since, what, third grade? What had they called that  
kid, carrottop? Nice figure, though. No, scratch that, fantastic figure.

He nudged Mulder's arm. "Hey Mulder, check her out. Think she's the  
new secretary?"

Mulder looked up, then gave him a sour look. "No."

Christ on a fucking crutch, of course he would read the mood wrong.  
Certainly explained why Mulder never shot the shit with Tyler and  
the rest. Who knew, maybe he was gay.

"Yo, Agent Platt," Vostok called. "We're outta donuts."

Thank god.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: I tried really hard to work the song in, but it just  
> wasn't happenin'.
> 
> Lyrics courtesy of Logan:
> 
> Song: Luck Be a Lady  
> >From Guys and Dolls Soundtrack
> 
> They call you Lady Luck.  
> But there is room for doubt  
> At times you have a very unladylike way of running out  
> You're this a date with me  
> The pickings have been lush  
> And yet before this evening is over you might give me the brush  
> You might forget your manners  
> You might refure to stay and So the best that I can to is pray.
> 
> Chorus:  
> Luck be a lady tonight  
> Luck be a lady tonight  
> Luck if you've ever been a lady to begin with  
> Luck be a lady tonight.
> 
> Luck let a gentleman see  
> How nice a dame you can be  
> I've seen the way you've treated other guys you've been with  
> Luck be a lady with me.
> 
> A lady doesn't leave her escort  
> It isn't fair, it isn't nice  
> A lady doesn't wander all over the room  
> And blow on some other guy's dice.  
> So let's keep the party polite  
> Never get out of my sight  
> Stick with me baby, I'm the fellow you came in with
> 
> chorus
> 
> A Lady wouldn't flirt with strangers  
> She'd have a heart, she'd have a soul  
> A lady wouldn't make little snake eyes at me  
> When I've got my life on this roll.
> 
> Roll 'em, roll 'em, roll 'em, snake eyes  
> Roll 'em, roll 'em, roll 'em!
> 
> So let's keep the party polite
> 
> Let's keep the party polite
> 
> Never get out of my sight
> 
> CRAPSHOTERS
> 
> Never get out of my sight.  
> Stick here, baby, stick here, baby.
> 
> Stick with me, baby, I'm the fellow you came in with  
> Luck be a lady
> 
> Luck be a lady
> 
> Luck be a lady tonight.
> 
> Coming out, coming out, coming out  
> Right!


End file.
